


there’s a fire inside (there’s a storm on the rise)

by tothemooon



Series: run away with me [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Coming Out, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Established Relationship, Fluff, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, I think that's it - Freeform, M/M, Mentions of Death, Oh, Running Away, and only mentioned in passing, because duh, but its minor, just thought i'd tag it anyway, like blink and you'll probably miss it, maybe a bit of, not sure what else to tag on here, well kind of anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 17:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2396291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tothemooon/pseuds/tothemooon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis run away together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there’s a fire inside (there’s a storm on the rise)

**Author's Note:**

> so. basically, i started writing this a while ago, because of _reasons_ and I somehow managed to forget about it until today, when I was looking for another file on my computer and well. I decided to finish it up. It's not usually what I write and I'm not sure how I feel about it, still, but I decided to give it a chance and post it anyway. 
> 
> also, this was proofread by me so it's totally gonna have some mistakes because alas i am only human. i apologize in advance. i'll come back and fix them later.
> 
> oh and title's from new politics' tonight you're perfect because faaave. give them a listen if you haven't yet.
> 
> there's also not much running away in this, despite the summary so. sorry? oh and they're both american in this because it was easier for me that way and it's set somewhere in the south. a small town in texas, maybe. 
> 
> anyway. enjoy.

Harry is nearly half asleep by the time Louis crawls into bed next to him, tucking himself under his arms and wrapping them around himself.

“You’re late,” Harry murmurs, voice thick with sleep as he tightens his hold around Louis’ waist and Louis sighs, resting his head against Harry, the soft rise and fall of his chest lulling him to some sense of comfort.

“Dad was up. Couldn’t slip out,” he says and he can feel Harry tense underneath him, can feel his grip tightening to something painful.

“Did he-?”

“No,” Louis says, packing as much reassurance as he can into his voice, placing his hand on top of Harry’s larger one. “No. He didn’t. He had people over. A minister I think.”

Harry’s grip loosens and he sighs and it sounds as tired as Louis feels. “So he’s still going through with it? Still sending you to that stupid camp?”

Louis nods, tucking his face against Harry’s neck, seeking comfort, breathing in his heady scent. “Yeah. Mom agrees with him, you know. They think it’s the only way, a ‘ _necessary precaution’_ , they call it. Heard them talking about it last night. They still think I don’t know.” 

“They’re wrong,” Harry says vehemently into the night the defining line to his jaw set as his grip tightens again, pressing their bodies closer. “They’re wrong and it’s stupid. It’s all so fucking stupid _._ ”

“I know, Haz,” Louis soothes, because he does. It might have taken him a long time to admit and an even longer time to believe there is nothing wrong with him, but he _does_ know. He knows now. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. They can plan to send me to whatever stupid camp all they want. I won’t be here.”

Harry’s grip doesn’t loosen as he turns around so that they’re face to face, his soft, minty breath ghosting over his lips, but he can see him relaxing. “Yeah,” he agrees, thumbs drawing soothing circles over his hips. “It’s all set, anyway. Ready when you are. We can leave tomorrow, if you want.”

“Yeah,” he says, not missing a beat because he doesn’t really see the point in waiting, not when they’re both so _ready_. He doesn’t want to take any chances.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, smiling his soft, only-for-Louis smile, crooked and small and all for him. He nods. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

They’re quiet for some time after that, the only sound that of their breathing and the chirp of a cricket nearby carrying in from the open window. He feels himself relax, doesn’t feel as nervous as he has been lately. It’s easy to forget the sense of dread that’s been lingering around him ever since he had walked in on his father while he was on the phone a week ago, the words ‘ _conversion therapy’_ causing his blood to run cold and feel as if someone was constricting his chest, holding his lungs in a metal grip so that he couldn’t breathe as he stumbled outside before his presence could be made known. It’s easier to forget and not to panic when he’s got Harry wrapped around him, a comforting presence beside him.

Here, in Harry’s arms, he feels safe. Knows he’s safe.

“I love you,” he whispers, bringing up a hand to caress Harry’s face, trace the dips and lines of his skin he’s ingrained to his memory.

And Harry smiles because he knows. He’s always known. “Love you, too.”

“Kiss me,” Louis whispers and they both know it’s much more than that, know that underneath is a silent plea of _help me forget, help me forget, help me forget_ because it’s all too much and Louis is still afraid, despite everything else.

And Harry does. He always does.

****

It’s nearly three in the morning by the time he makes it back to his house, despite it being a school night, a blooming, purple bruise hidden beneath the collar of his shirt and the ghost of Harry’s touch still lingering in his skin.

It’s dark and silent and univinting, and it makes his skin crawl like it always does, makes him want to turn around and walk back the short trek back to Harry's, where there seems to be an ever-present homely glow, where he knows he'll always be welcomed and accepted.

He creeps in, closing the door carefully behind him and he’s done this enough to know that it’s better if he goes to the kitchen first for a bottle of water, in case someone chooses to venture out of their bedroom and find him out of bed, something to give him an excuse as to why he's up when he should be sleeping. It’s happened before.

He makes his way carefully up the stairs, being careful of the third stair which creaks if stepped on wrong, and he thinks he’s made it home free when he opens the door to his room, only to find a dark shadow occupying his bed, their back turned to him and promptly freezes. His eyes are wide and a bit fearful as his grip tightens on the plastic, easing a bit when the shadow turns and he meets a pair of blue eyes similar to his own.

He feels the air leaving his body, slumping in relief as he notices it’s only Lottie and they stare at each other for a moment, Lottie's eyes racking over his features as Louis steps into his room, closing the door behind him.

“Where were you?” Lottie asks as they stare at each other from across the room and Louis might be imagining it, but he can detect a hint of relief in her voice.

He sighs. “I was at Harry’s,” he says, letting himself fall against the door, toying with the bottle in his hand.

Lottie knows, has known for a long time and is one of the only people Louis had confided in when he had gone through his whole ‘gay freak out’ because, despite how much he loves his other sisters, Lottie has always been the one he’s been closest to, despite their age difference. She knows him the best, perhaps not as good as Harry does because he doesn’t think anybody ever could. But. She understands him, at least. Understands where he’s coming from.

“What are you doing up so late?” he asks and for a moment, he thinks Lottie isn’t going to talk, as she turns away from him, looking out his window.

“I was scared,” Lottie finally admits her voice small and vulnerable and it prompts Louis to close the distance between them, climbing onto the bed next to her and throwing an arm around his little sister. “I-I thought he had _found_ out, I saw that minister and I thought he had sent you away, Lou.”

“I’m here, Lot. I haven’t gone anywhere,” he soothes and Lottie sighs, resting her head against his shoulder. He lets the _not yet_ linger in the air unsaid, but Lottie picks up on it, slips her hand into his.

“When?” she whispers, voice tentative, as if she’s afraid of his answer.

It takes him a moment before he answers. “Tomorrow,” he says finally and Lottie's hand tightens around his.

“So, everything’s ready, then?” she asks and Louis nods, whispering a soft, “Yeah.”

“So. New York, huh?” she asks, trying to give him a smile that falters and her voice cracks.

"Lottie," Louis starts, his voice sad and laden with apologies, but Lottie shakes her head sharply, squeezes his hand.

"Don't," she says and her voice sounds tired and determined and the tiniest bit forlorn, all wrapped into one. "Don't apologize."

“I’m gonna miss you,” he whispers instead and she nods, because the feeling’s kind of mutual.

“I’m gonna miss you, too. Take care, Lou, please.”

“I will,” Louis promises, because there’s not much else he can do.

“I’m leaving too, you know,” Lottie says after a beat and Louis sighs, resting his head against hers. “Maybe not right now, but. As soon as I can, I am. There’s not much for me here, if I stay, anyway.”

Louis supposes Lottie understands him more than he knows.

“You know I’ll always be there for you, for whatever you need,” he says, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

“I know.”

It doesn’t feel so much a goodbye, as it does a promise of ‘ _I’ll see you later.’_

****

The thing is, Louis was brought up to have strong family values. Which isn’t to say that Harry wasn’t, because Louis knows Anne raised him well, knows how much Harry loves his mom and his older sister, knows he’d go to the farthest ends of the world for them.

It’s just that while Harry was brought up in an open-minded environment, while he had been accepted just the way he is, Louis had been brought up in a family with strong Christian beliefs and it had been drilled into his mind ever since he can remember that homosexuality was wrong and immoral, a sin that had no salvation.

He supposes he’s lucky that his dad doesn’t know, even if he _suspects_ , supposes he should thank his lucky stars that he’s only been slapped around a few times to ‘straighten him out’, that the only threat against him is being sent away to pray-away-the-gay camp because he doesn’t fit his father’s definition of a how a man should behave.  He still remembers that one time when he was ten and had been sitting beside his dad watching the evening news and a report of a boy beaten to death for being gay had come on, can clearly recall the way his father had scoffed as he sipped on his beer, muttering under his breath ‘ _Son of a bitch deserved it. It’s what he gets for being a faggot, fucking queer’._

He doesn’t want to know what his dad would do to him, if he ever found out.

****

He’s got his things packed in a small backpack hidden in the back of his closet, just a few changes of clothes and a small envelope of money he’s managed to save throughout the years. There’s a letter sitting in his desk addressed to his mother because he thinks she deserves to know, deserves at least an explanation of why he’s leaving.

He’s ready to leave, the need to get out of here and leave this all behind crawling under his skin like a very bad itch as he goes through his morning routine. He’s fidgety and anxious as he sits with his family for breakfast, something he usually forgoes, opting instead to rush out the door with a piece of toast tucked into his hand and his father’s beady eyes trailing behind him. But he knows he doesn’t have much time and he’s trying to make the most of it, wants to spend as much time with his younger sisters as he can because he doesn’t know when he’ll be able to see them again, doesn’t know _if_ he’ll ever be able to.

His father barks at him to stop, sit still as he glares at him from over his coffee mug and Louis catches Fizzy sending him a sympathetic look as he lowers his eyes to the table, muttering an apology under his breath.

It seems like ages before his father is leaving, walking out the door with nothing more than an ‘ _I’ll be back for dinner’_ aimed in his mother's direction.

No kiss, no hug, no sign of affection. Just a cold, empty tone, just like it's always been.

He helps get his younger sisters ready for school, helps Daisy and Phoebe into their shoes and pull on their backpacks, before he’s helping his mother clear the table, ignoring her protests of ‘ _I’ll do it later’._

“It’s okay, I’ve got it,” Louis says with a shrug, giving his mom a small smile. “Don’t need to be at school until ten, anyway. Graduation,” he reminds her and she nods, sighing gratefully as she finishes getting ready.

He’s there to see them off, giving each of his sisters a hug that are probably borderline inappropriate for someone who is supposed to be seeing them in a few hours, swallowing the knot in his throat, but thankfully, none of the girls say anything, not even Fizzy, who only gives him a weird look when he pulls back, giving her a kiss in the cheek as he whispers, “Take care, please, I love you,” into her ear.

It’s a bit harder when it comes to Lottie because they both know what’s coming and he can see she’s trying her hardest not to cry as she turns away from him, rushes into the family car without so much as a glance back, although it's not nearly as hard as saying goodbye to his mother is. He tries not to cling to her as she hugs him back, patting his back in a soothing matter, no doubt attributing his behavior to the fact that he’s supposed to be attending his graduation ceremony in less than a few hours.

It feels shitty, doing it on a day that’s supposed to be a celebration for him and his family--or, well, his mother, at least--but they’ve both agreed that it’s better this way, better to leave when no one is expecting it.

It feels like no time at all before they’re leaving, rushing out the door with a chorus of  ‘ _See you later, Lou. Love you’s!’_ trailing behind them and he’s all alone with a house that’s too big and too suffocating and that stopped feeling like home a long while ago.

Louis doesn’t give himself any time to cry as he rushes upstairs, taking two at a time because he knows he doesn’t have much time--fifteen minutes, at most, if he’s lucky--and Harry’s supposed to be there in less than five. He grabs his backpack from the small pile of dirty clothes it had been buried under, grabbing the letter from his desk. He stops by the door, giving his room a last glance, his eyes lingering on the glittery pink spot in the carpet from where Daisy and Phoebe had spilt their nail polish when they had been four and Louis had babysat them for a few hours while his mother ran errands, and he revels in the memory for a few seconds, tucks it away into a secret corner of his mind, before he’s turning around and closing the door behind him.

He reaches the bottom of the stairs just as Harry pulls up and Louis is a mess of nerves as he takes a deep breath, holding tight onto the banister until his knuckles turn white, before exhaling slowly.

He places the letter somewhere he knows his mom will see it, props it up against one of her favorite vases, before he’s rushing out of the house before he can change his mind, let his fear talk him out of it, closing the door behind him for the last time.

He doesn’t feel himself relaxing the tiniest bit until he gets closer to Harry’s car, until Harry looks up and finds his gaze, giving him a smile that makes all his doubts go away, silences the voices inside his head that demands him to go back, to turn around and walk away and keep pretending, voices that sound suspiciously like his father.

“Are you ready?” Harry asks when Louis reaches his car door, one hand on the handle as he hitches his backpack higher on his shoulders.

Louis smiles as he throws the door open, climbing inside. “Yeah. Yeah I am.”

****

The sun is bathing the world in hues of gold and pink as it sets over the horizon, the wind is hitting his face as they race down the large expanse of the open road, Harry’s grinning from the driver’s seat, hands tapping against the steering wheel as The 1975 blares from the speakers of his shitty car and Louis, Louis has never felt freer.

“Just you and me now, Lou,” Harry says, reaching over the consoler to grasp Louis hands in his, brings it up to his lips and kisses the back of it.

And Louis smiles because it’s always been them. It’s always been Louis and Harry and it’ll always be Louis and Harry, here and in any universe imaginable because he knows they’re what people call soul mates, knows that they’d find each other, one way or another.

He doesn’t think about what will happen when his mother comes back to find an empty house and a letter addressed to her, doesn’t let the thought of what his father is going to do when he finds out Louis is gone cross his mind, because none of that matters. Not anymore.

“Yeah. Just you and me, against the world.”

He doesn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> well. there's that.
> 
> like i said, i'm not really sure how i feel about this, or if it's any good but. be gentle to me, yeah? i'm feeling a bit sensitive and i might cry if y'all are too harsh. just kidding. i hope it wasn't too sucky. i'm thinking about turning this into a series (yes i know i say that all the time but i have fic commitment issues so) but idk yet. 
> 
> anyway. comment/kudos/you know the drill. thank you for reading xx


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